── THE CLOSEST TO HEAVEN I'LL EVER BE ノ HOW THEY KISS YOU (PT. 1) ‧₊˚ ⋅
✦ . . . three men. three different kinds of devotion. and the quiet, intimate moments where possessiveness, tenderness, and love blur into something consuming.
content. f!reader. sfw, minor injuries, kissing, suggestive themes, implied/referenced violence, needles, discussions of religion, established relationships. 3.9k+ words.
⤷ features osamu dazai, chuuya nakahara, and fyodor dostoevsky.
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✦ — 𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐔 𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈
The plush leather of the chair warmed like an old ceramic pot left in the sun, cradling your tired body as it soaked up the light. Your feet braced against an adjoining stool as your diligent hands stitched a nasty tear on Dazai’s coat sleeve, ripped in a violent, early-morning raid in one of the harbor warehouses. You’d already been tempted to fix it, but Kunikida’s persistent complaints forced your hand—though the dedicated man hadn’t intended for you to do it, it would be obvious come Monday morning that the coat’s wearer had no hand in its sudden repair.
Speak of the devil and he will appear, standing at the entrance of your living room, tapping his foot with the impatience of a child.
“How long is this gonna take?”
“It’s only been ten minutes.” You didn’t even bother to look up, preoccupied with piercing the needle through a particularly tough patch of fabric. “And this is your coat. I could just not fix it at all.”
“Then I’d be practically naked!”
“That’s what I thought.”
Dazai’s eyes slitted like an ill-tempered cat, the distance between you unable to muffle the amusement in your tone. He was certain you were smiling, a crescent-shape drawn across your lips as you perched in the chair, pleased with yourself.
“Such a cruel woman!” he cried, hobbling like a midday drunkard across the room. “Can’t you have pity on a poor man’s heart?”
He tumbled into the chair, the motion accidentally forcing the needle into the tip of your thumb. Hissing, you snatched your hand, eyeing the bead of blood that blossomed from your fingertip. Your frown only deepened as a drop glided down your finger, claiming a piece of coat fabric for itself.
“Great. Now I’ve got blood on it.”
“It’ll come out.”
Your glare dried out any words that tried to come out of his mouth, flopping your unfinished handiwork down onto your lap.
“I’m the one who’ll have to clean it.”
“We certainly can’t have that, can we?” Your pissed-off face only egged on his shit-eating grin. “How will you be able to manage with such an injury?”
Uncareful hands rustled your shirt like they were attempting to placate a stray animal, the same uncareful man prancing off toward your bathroom.
“This is your fault, you know!”
He either didn’t hear you or completely ignored you—only he would know, but you could guess—the cliff-edge of a tune on his lips as he rummaged through your bathroom cabinet in the dark. Not that he needed to turn on the light to find it, hands meeting the cool plastic of a medical kit before he’d even finished the first verse. He returned, and you were in the same state he left you in, unamused and wilted.
He almost felt bad. Okay—he did feel bad. For you getting hurt, that is.
Not for messing with you. Much. It wasn’t his fault! You were so absolutely darling when enraged.
“Excuse me,” he sang, plopping onto the stool with the kit in his lap, nudging your feet with his hip as he reached for your hand. “Alright. Let me see it.”
It remained firmly held in your other. “You don’t have to go through all this trouble, you know. It’s just a prick.”
“No, no, no.” Despite his teasing, he was careful not to irritate you or your wound further, easing the hand into his lap. “You just sit there and relax. Doctor’s orders.”
That determined look on his face made it clear there was no arguing with him, so you didn’t. Submitting with a huff, you allowed your hand to be examined, now careful fingers tracing up the ridge of your thumb. Still, you couldn’t help your suspicion.
“Why do I feel like this was all just an elaborate scheme to make me pay attention to you?”
“They didn’t call me the demon prodigy for nothing.”
You swallowed the retort in your throat, suddenly exhausted by the idea of an endless back-and-forth. Your firm mask of anger did not take long to crumble to your feet, eyes fluttering as the sun tempted them to close. It had been an overwhelming day, and Dazai was more than happy to provide a momentary respite, nimble fingers massaging the tense muscles of your palm as you unwound.
He popped the kit open, reaching for one of the small bandages, only to halt at the sight of one of his wraps. If he was going to take care of you, why not draw it out for as long as he possibly could? He was sure you wouldn’t mind.
Unwinding a section of the wrap, he slowly spindled it around your thumb, careful not to wind it too tight. Your hand was so warm—unbearably so. Like you’d soaked up the sun itself. It would’ve been no surprise to him if you were its reincarnation, though he’d wonder what he had ever done to deserve sunshine in his hands.
The faint rhythm of a rickety fan guided his fingers, encasing your palm in the protective fabric. His thumb brushed past an old scar from a year he couldn’t name, and he made sure to document it in his mind with the reverence of a scholar.
“Uh, don’t you think this is a bit overboard?”
You were right, he knew, but he refused to answer, pressing his lips to the bandaged tip of your thumb. “Is there a problem with me wanting to take care of my beautiful girlfriend?”
A small noise from your lips—maybe in disbelief, maybe in something far more remarkable—shattered the remains of his soft intentions, his heated mouth drawing a line between the constellation of beauty marks on your hand. Scars, freckles, moles—anything he could see.
The medical kit landed with a thunk as he snatched you by the waist, dragging you onto his lap as he journeyed from wrist to arm. You flushed underneath his touch, taut like a spring pulled back on the verge of release.
“What is going on with you?” Your breath hitched, head craning back as he nipped at the sensitive patch of skin found in the juncture of your neck.
“What?” he asked, unrelenting. “Is something wrong?”
You didn’t know how to reply. Found yourself not wanting to, biting back a noise as he marked delicate, binding kisses up the curve of your neck.
“Truth is—” His breath prickled your skin. “I’d wrap you up entirely if it meant keeping you all to myself. I’m greedy like that.”
He met his destination at the curve of your jaw, darting his heated touch from the crinkle of your eyes to the wrinkle of your brow, ending at the corner of your lips to sit on the tempting edge of an actual kiss.
He pulled back, and despite the smirk on his face, the softness of his eyes had you melting.
“You okay, pretty girl?”
The heat left you dazed, replying with a simple, “Mhm.”
He hummed, caramel eyes flickering from your own to your lips. You were truly the most breathtaking creature to ever exist—you could feign indifference all you liked, but the best part of his day would always be watching you unravel the moment he had you in his arms. How could he not fall in love with such simple beauty?
“You'll have to forgive me, then.” His touch, despite his words, was gentle as he whispered against you. “I’m a weak man.”
You grabbed at his collar as your lips collided, sighs spilling into the kiss as your last drop of restraint dissolved. The coat bunched between you joined the kit on the floor, his hand circling your hip, chest pressed flush against his own. Could you feel his heart beat from this close? He certainly could feel yours.
“God—” he breathed. “Can’t believe you’re all mine. So beautiful.”
You laughed against his lips, eyes shining like he’d brought you back from the dead.
“You know this isn’t gonna get you out of cleaning, right?”
He snorted, knowing nothing could be more perfect than the realization that you had both been positively made for one another.
✦ — 𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐔𝐘𝐀 𝐍𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀
It had been a long day for the Port Mafia executive.
Not because of missions or paperwork—he would’ve preferred either to the assortment of mundane duties he’d been forced to attend. Fights were supposed to be fun. Exhilarating, even—at least that’s how he saw it. A clash of power and will, pushed to the brink to see which would win. He’d always admired foes that met him with that understanding.
Which is why he wasn’t too pleased by the string of cowards lined up for him to capture.
The latest had been a group that had attempted to breach one of the mafia’s largest depots. He had been looking forward to it for days, only to be met with disappointment as its members turned tail and ran the second they spotted him.
They were dumb enough to mess with the mafia, but not enough to even try to fight him?
What a serious buzzkill.
His shoulder creaked as he rolled them, like an old metal pipe, the elevator to the mafia’s private garage thankfully opening without delay. He wished for nothing more than to return home. Malaise crept in the shadows of his footsteps, halting with him as he spotted someone in the distance, messing with the top box of his motorcycle. His feet found flight like a second wind, rushing toward them.
“Hey!” His hands itched to tear them a new one—verbally or physically, he hadn’t decided yet—only for the wind to hit back at him as he met the familiar eyes of the woman he was dying to see. “Babe? What the hell are you doing here?”
You smiled, barely bothering to register how suspicious you looked as you closed the lid of the box, inching your way towards him.
“Hey, hun. How was your day?”
His eyes narrowed, flickering between you and whatever you were hiding.
“Fine. What’s going on?”
You were planning something—those eyes couldn’t hide mischief for long. He struggled to maintain a stoic facade as his annoying heart thrummed beneath his chest. You always managed to do that—he loathed it. One look, and he felt like a teenager all over again.
“I actually wanted to ask—can you drive us somewhere?”
His hard stare weathered. “I mean, of course I can. Where do you need to go?”
“It’s a surprise!”
And just like that, the stare returned. Chuuya had rarely experienced a nice surprise. They’d either been terrible on their own or followed by something worse, like the reaper kept a debt he couldn’t estimate. Even the word surprise left a bad taste in his mouth.
“Doll,” he sighed. “You know how I feel about surprises.”
“I know, I know,” you replied, confidence waning. “It’s a nice one, though, I swear. Very laid-back.”
He knew you had good intentions—he really did. His mind feared the pattern outlined in his footsteps, but he knew, truthfully, he couldn’t say no to you. Chuuya Nakahara was a man who’d rather experience a brief moment of happiness over a lifetime of wondering what-if.
He was a whipped man. If anyone else saw him like this, they’d never believe he was a member of the mafia, much less an executive.
With a browbeaten look, he surrendered. “Alright.”
It took some time to reach your destination, the bike a speeding bullet as it weaved through noisy, rush-hour traffic, escaping into the outer stretches of the city. He’d rarely been in the countryside, completely disoriented as the road shifted from concrete to rock, forced to rely on your directions alone as the path took multiple winding turns. You finally stopped, sat within an unremarkable patch of trees.
“Okay, I’m lost,” Chuuya said, removing the helmet you’d insisted he wear. “Where the hell are we?”
“You’ll see,” you sang, hopping off the bike and removing your own gear before snatching his hand as he dismounted. “Follow me.”
The trees were thick and dense, so he hadn’t expected the intense block of light that pierced through the leaves, forcing him to squint as he blocked it with his other hand. His eyes adjusted, he blinked, and the sight before him stole his breath.
“Damn.”
The hills of Yokohama quietly offered the best view he had ever seen, capturing the skyscrapers and the setting sun in a single scene. None of the hustle and bustle of city life could be heard from here, muted by the wind as it mixed with the flustering leaves and grass around it.
“I used to come here a lot when I was younger.” His eyes strayed from the city, breath ceasing entirely as it became restrained in the tranquil image of your face. “I thought you’d like it.”
There was a time, when you first started seeing each other, when he questioned if you could be any more beautiful. He thought it impossible, but it seemed his past self was a fool. Here, you were in your element, face cradled by a warm sun, the sky a frame around the canvas of your figure.
You were fucking ethereal.
“Oh! I almost forgot,” you said, dipping back behind the trees.
He was a weak man; he knew—had to be, if just your absence alone put such a monumental strain on his heart.
You returned, carrying what he assumed to be the items you’d not-so-sneakily placed in the top box.
“We have this—” In one hand, you raised a bottle of one of his favorite Bordeaux wines. “To ourselves for the next few hours. I’ve got a ride scheduled and everything, just in case we indulge ourselves a bit too much.”
He scoffed, too charmed by the proud look on your face.
“How’d ya manage that?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Flopping onto the ground, you set the basket from your other hand down, prying it open to dish out an impressive number of finger foods. You almost forgot he was even there, stomach growling as you snatched a pastry from its container. It was only halfway through a bite that you’d realized he hadn’t joined you in the grass yet, eyes darting between him and the dessert, patting the space next to you since your mouth was occupied.
He tried not to crumble at the sight of sugar smudged across your lips.
“Sweetheart,” he said, settling on the ground at your side. “You’ve got a little something on your face.”
Your hand swiped across your lip, only managing to wipe a small portion of the mess, brow furrowed in the most endearing act of concentration he had ever witnessed. If he fell over now, dead from the sight, he would be okay with that.
You blinked, looking at him expectantly. “Did I get it?”
He allowed himself to drink everything in for a moment longer, a thought rolling around in his head. His thumb brushed against your bottom lip, only working to smear the mess further.
“Oh! Thank—”
His restraint snapped, diving in for a bite. Jam mixed with the taste of your lips in an exquisite blend, satiating a vacancy he once thought could never be filled—one that had burned since the day he gained consciousness. He drove you into the soft grass, hands moving with their own goal, stealing the noise from your throat as he took in each tempered breath like it was his last meal.
“What did I possibly do to earn you?” he groaned, fingers varnishing your lashes as watercolor eyes blessed him once more.
He sank back in, shivering at the way you breathed his name.
“I thank the gods you’re mine every morning.” The words escaped his throat like a man in prayer as he parted your lips with his tongue. “Couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else getting to have this.”
Your hands cupped his face, and he knew he was forever changed by the unrivaled fondness of your eyes, looking at him the same way he looked at you.
“You deserve it. Even when you don’t think so. Especially then.”
He let the air circle around you both as passion waned into contemplation. You knew trouble when you saw it, especially when it circled the blues of his eyes, reflecting a trouble not yet justified by the alcohol forgotten at your feet.
“We’ve got a couple hours to kill, right?” One of those traitorous hands toyed with the trim of your shirt. “I think I’d like to taste something else.”
✦ — 𝐅𝐘𝐎𝐃𝐎𝐑 𝐃𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐄𝐕𝐒𝐊𝐘
Tears poured from the sky in a symphony of thunder and lightning, crackling against the earth without care for rhythm or melody. Pious men claimed it to be God, maddened at the ill-deeds of a forgotten, immortal son. The son—a demon—knew it was just a reminder. That there will always be two sides to a coin, whether that be sun and rain, good and evil. He was simply there to ensure balance between both.
The damp, underground labyrinth that served as Fyodor’s temporary hideout did little to soothe his stiffened joints. It was not the best place for someone of his fragile constitution, but he’d lived in far worse conditions with far worse company.
Not that his subordinates counted as such.
They nodded or waved as he passed, and whether it was from respect or fear, he didn’t care; many slipped by as their work concluded for the evening. None of them would serve any use if they didn’t receive rest, after all. He didn’t need them sharp. He needed them capable. This brought a thought to his mind, stopping a man before he slinked by.
“Where is she this evening?”
It didn’t matter whether he said a name or not—anyone with a brain could decipher who the Demon referred to.
“She’s in your office, boss,” the man replied, trying to hide his nerves to no avail.
“My office?” Fyodor raised a brow before waving the man off with a nod. “No matter. Thank you.”
The familiar path to his office echoed as people cleared from the halls, his footsteps racketing against an unforgiving metal that announced his presence. A rumble returned the unspoken greeting in kind, the clicking of keys crescendoing from the illuminated figure inside.
He squinted as he crossed the threshold, eyes adjusting to the bright screens in front of him.
“Welcome back.”
The smooth timbre of your voice was a balm to the cold, like a false, warm summer heat; the perfect antithesis to the storm outside.
“Good evening, my dear,” he replied, stripping himself of his hat and coat before settling them onto a nearby rack. You didn’t stop typing, another hand leading the mouse across the screen as it expertly sorted through multiple operations.
He waited, and then struck.
“I’m quite surprised to see you out of your normal hiding spot. Is your office not to your standards anymore? I’m certain I can find a solution to whatever it is you’re lacking.”
The mouse stilled. Caught in the trap.
“You’ve got more screens than I do.”
The statement was weak. At best.
“It’s helped me get more work done.”
He hummed, a smirk etched into the wintery paleness of his cheeks. “Is that right?”
You’d never admit you were here solely because you missed him—you both knew that well. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t relish the thrill, stringing you through a maze of his own design, enthralled at the possibility that he would one day hear the truth from your lips.
“The mission went well, I assume?” you asked, changing the subject. “I know it was supposed to start raining. Hope you didn’t get caught up in it.”
“It was barely a drizzle when I arrived. The mission itself went just according to plan.” He trapsed across the room, equally too stubborn to admit he had longed to see your face after a week’s absence. “All thanks to you, of course.”
Mellow eyes met his against the vibrant light.
Your shoulders rested, a smile perched on your lips. “What a flatterer you are, lyubimyy.”
It took more willpower than he’d ever, ever admit to another living creature to suppress the quiver that ruptured from the vacant cavity in his chest.
But it was the sight of you that almost destroyed him entirely, swaddled up in his spare coat, legs tucked to your chest as you huddled beneath the makeshift blanket. The gap between the coat and your body exposed the indecent slip you wore underneath. He would’ve commented on the lack of proper attire, around your subordinates specifically, if the mere sight hadn’t utterly entranced him.
What a cruel strike to the heart was the sight, seeing you tucked away and content in the small world he’d crafted. Safe from the storm outside. That was his purpose, too, he supposed. To keep balance meant to protect the sacred. And if the divine took mortal form, would it not be you?
But he was still a demon, wickedness in his blood. A tempting thought came to mind.
“Now that you’ve mentioned it,” he mused. “You look quite cold yourself.”
You shifted from content to confused, eyes flickering down to the coat.
“I guess a little bit.”
You yelped as frigid hands hoisted you from the seat. Fyodor planted himself down, taking his rightful place, before spreading you across his lap as if it were yours. He drank in your wide eyes and parted lips, stealing your warmth as his fingers glided across the underside of your jaw.
“Oh, dear,” he said, voice a mockery of concern. “You still look cold.”
Your eyes scrambled, looking anywhere but him. “I-I’m fine.”
But, like a shepherd, he guided you back.
“Don’t lie to me.” You knew you were doomed, ensnared by the squall of his stare. “You never have been able to. It’s alright.”
It released you for a moment, turning downward, but the breath you took was another trap.
“I know just the way to warm you up.”
He pressed his lips to yours—gentle, at first. Like someone knocking at a door, waiting to be let in. But it wasn’t long before the door was barged down, rendering your mind useless in a tremor of curses and sighs, uncaring as he methodically pried you apart. He wanted everything you gave. The warmth of your body burned, and he played your spine like a taut string, trembling beneath an expert touch before calloused fingers smoothed at the nape of your neck.
Still cold, it seemed. That wouldn’t do.
Your arms snaked around his neck like vines of ivy, and part of him—the man that remained despite the years that weathered away at him—wondered what it would feel like if they squeezed tighter.
“Fedya,” you pleaded, and he knew you were both damned.
You didn’t know what you wanted. Only knew that he’d be the only person you ever wanted to give it to you.
“Shh, milaya.” His hand returned, firm against your back, pressing you closer as his other hand plucked at the thin fabric pooled atop your thighs. “I’m not finished yet.”
Your breath surged as his touch sparked earthquakes across your skin, chest heaving, arms shaking. You couldn’t find the strength to look him in the eyes, tucking your face into the exposed skin of his neck as you attempted to calm the pounding drum of your heart.
“Are you warm now?”
If you didn’t love him so unbearably much, you’d have punched him at the first chime of that insufferable, cocky tone. You took another moment, strategically, an eye of the storm, before grabbing his face. You searched for something amongst those deep, ocean-like eyes, widened ever-so-slightly, pushing him down once you found what you were looking for.
“Not yet.”
part one of bungo stray dogs has finally concluded! how was the chapter? this was queued prior to its drop, so i can only imagine (in horror) the events of the current update.
i also had a funny realization while making this piece. it's been over a year since i've written anything for fyodor. feels like i've returned home after a long journey away. hope you enjoyed!
How would they react at first if they realized they like you?
✧ OSAMU DAZAI
Most likely, Dazai would act as if he’s joking. He’d be brutally straightforward, not letting you breathe too much in the agency office or finding any excuse to irritate you.
“I’ve heard our most beautiful colleague even has time for my documents too, isn’t that right, bella?”
Even if your heart sometimes beats faster when he compliments you or when he stares at you with that hollow yet intense gaze, Dazai still manages to annoy you far too often.
“You heard wrong.”
Snatching your mission report out of your hands, he made you flare up, rising from your chair to grab it back unsuccessfully.
“Or…I can help you draw your conclusions faster, bella! Trade for trade.”
His smirk grated on your nerves even more. You muttered, “I hate you.” though malice laced it.
Your eyes widened as he gripped your waist, your documents held above your reach while his gaze pinned you down, looking straight at you from above.
“Aww, I truly don’t wish to upset my favorite colleague.”
And yet, no matter how much Dazai jokes, avoids seriousness, or dodges his own feelings, if your life were ever in danger (even if sacrificing you would perfectly serve his strategy) he would never hesitate to save you. Excusing himself with the idea that he’ll surely come up with another plan, though deep down he knows he can’t admit yet that you’re far more important to him than you should be.
✧ CHUUYA NAKAHARA
Chuuya couldn’t stand you from the very moment you entered the Port Mafia at the same time you refused to put up with his arrogance, always firing back whenever he provoked you.
Chuuya barely managed to keep his irritation in check, to stop himself from rolling his eyes when Mori assigned the two of you on the same mission.
“I don’t contest your skills at organizing us, but do I really have to be teamed up with her?”
You answered with the same subtle tone, yet throwing provocation in his face.
“Afraid you’re too weak to keep up?”
And still, Chuuya was utterly stunned when he saw you in action. How resilient, how strong you were. His eyes widened in admiration. Catching him staring, you couldn’t resist teasing, even if his gaze made your own heart hammer.
“Like what you see, foxy boy?”
Chuuya narrowed his eyes in annoyance, even if a betraying flush crept up his cheeks.
But his hidden emotions would only come out when fear overwhelmed him. When your life was truly at risk, he would break completely. Confessing everything in a shaken, frantic voice.
“Don’t you fucking dare die, [Name]! Don’t you—Shit! I can’t lose you. I-I really—“
Your lips twitched faintly as your eyes fluttered shut, exhaustion dragging you down.
“I know, Chuuya. I know. Me too.”
✧ FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
He would never say it outright. For him, acknowledging interest in someone is a colossal weakness, especially in someone working at his side. He would blame it on admiring your intellect, on your obedience, on nearly accepting that he actually trusts you.
Instead, his methods are far from moral.
“You know you’re the best one along my partners, right, [Name]?”
He tilted your chin up, smirking down at you, his eyes attempting to hypnotize you and nearly succeeding.
You smiled back, gaze dropping to his lips before returning to his eyes with that addictive, dangerous look.
“How can I help you this time, Fyodor?”
And still, he would not treat you as he does everyone else. Avoiding (logically, strategically — as he calls it) using you as a mere sacrifice.
✧ RANPO EDOGAWA
Ranpo was utterly confused at first. Why weren’t his deductions working? Why did his heart pound inhumanly fast whenever you stood too close? Why did his body warm up when you praised him for his insights, but not when anyone else did?
It took him a long time to realize he actually liked you, and once he did, the best solution was to confess. And yet… without you, he doubted he would’ve survived it alone.
One day, after a mission, Ranpo came to you, catching you off guard.
“Hey, Ranpo. Are you okay?”
“Why do you always care how I am or what I do?”
You blinked. Once. Twice. You couldn’t tell if his tone was harsh or curious.
“Ranpo?”
His hands twitched, and when his eyes slowly opened, soft in a way you had never seen, you froze.
“Tell me why. Because I’m going insane thinking I’m the only one seeing you in a way I shouldn’t. It makes no sense.”
When you kissed him, Ranpo forgot all the months of headaches this had caused him, melting completely into your touch.
✧ RYUUNOSUKE AKUTAGAWA
For Akutagawa, realizing he had feelings for you would be unbearable. Disgusted with himself, he’d rather lash out at you like a child whenever you were too “naive” for your own good.
“Are you fucking serious? Why did you come here? What if something happened and I wasn’t there?”
But the moment he raised his voice, he hated himself even more, especially if your expression showed the slightest hint of hurt. Frozen a second too long, he never apologized (not at first), choosing instead to storm off, guilt gnawing inside.
Yet, after a mission, when you came to clean and bandage his wounds with fierce determination, his chest throbbed violently. Your gentle hands touched his face, far too softly for someone like him.
“Why are you doing this? I only saved you because you were in my way.” His voice was low, yet not angry.
Your gaze met his as you murmured against his face, focusing again on his bruises.
“Every time?”
Your ironic jab irritated him, but he froze again when you leaned too close to grab another set of bandages.
“Because I trust you, Akutagawa. And because you’re stronger than you think. Scream all you want, but I know you have a good heart, Ryuu.”
His muscles tightened, eyes wide with fear and vulnerability. Overwhelmed, he couldn’t even move. All he managed was a weak scoff, hiding his gaze. Still, your smile start forming when you caught the blush on his cheeks.
✧ ATSUSHI NAKAJIMA
Atsushi would be flustered beyond belief, confusing you endlessly at first.
If you hugged him too affectionately, he’d stammer an excuse and flee somewhere else.
If you were too sweet with him, praising him, he’d flush crimson and hide his face as quickly as possible.
But if there were even a hint of danger for you, he would be the very first at your side to protect you.
It would be impossible not to notice in the end—most likely kissing him after a heroic act, catching him completely off guard.
“[Name], what—“ You leaned into him, brushing your lips against his before resting your forehead on his. “Y-you like me too?”
You smiled, nodding and that was all it took for him to cup your cheeks and press his lips to yours in a soft, tender kiss.
✧ DOPPO KUNIKIDA
Doppo would deny his feelings outright, embarrassed to even clear his throat or tug at his tie as though he couldn’t breathe—only whenever you teased him about how responsible he was.
You leaned your head beside his chair, watching him so closely he nearly spilled his coffee. Smiling with your eyes shut, you spoke.
“You’re so serious sometimes, Doppo! Can I help you relax a little?”
“I-I… Nevermind. No! No need…”
You chuckled as he exhaled loudly, teasing him before planting a kiss on his cheek.
“A real embodiment of a husband, did you know that?”
He would be shocked and flustered the entire day. Still, it would be the serious push he needed to finally invite you out properly with every minute and place meticulously planned.
✧ YUKICHI FUKUZAWA
You wouldn’t realize it at first. Even though you’ve known him your whole life, if Fukuzawa ever noticed his feelings drifting beyond platonic, his instinct would be to create distance.
Until you intervened.
“Even if you’re the President of the Agency, that doesn’t mean you can boss me around however you want, Fukuzawa!”
He sighed, rising from his desk and walking toward you. His hands folded beneath the green yukata under his black haori.
“It’s necessary to separate these matters. Our personal lives shouldn’t affect our work.”
“Oh, so you’d rather push me aside? What does that have to do with what’s between us and our personal lives?”
For a fleeting second, you caught Fukuzawa’s eyes widen.
“It’s not that I’m pushing you aside, [Name]. It’s simply—“
“You’ve developed feelings for me, haven’t you, Fukuzawa?”
He was not a man who lied. So he chose silence. Only action. He raised his hands slowly, his knuckles brushing your cheek gently. Devotion glimmered in his eyes, tangled with restraint.
✧ SAKUNOSUKE ODA
Oda was a serious man, respecting anyone who respected him, kind whenever he could be. And yet, when he realized his behavior toward you was different, he didn’t hesitate to speak—awkward as he was. For him, communication was the best solution.
After a long day, he waited for you, one hand hidden behind his back, ready to offer you a flower regardless of your answer. Apologizing or celebrating together.
“Oda?”
He swallowed, hesitant but steady
“If I’ve got the wrong impression, or if this makes you uncomfortable, please tell me. No pressure. I just want to confess that…I like you…and that I’d like to know you better.”
His thoughtful sincerity filled your heart more than you ever expected.
✧ ANGO SAKAGUCHI
Difficult. He was torn between avoiding the whole ordeal (such a headache) and admitting that he was helplessly drawn to you.
Still, one hint from you was enough to tip the scale.
After a few glasses of whisky, you convinced the bookworm to join you on the dance floor.
At first, he preferred to just watch you, leaning against the bar. But then, under his breath, Ango murmured, “Fuck it.” When you crooked your finger at him with that dangerous smile, he surprised you — his lips pressing onto yours, cupping your cheeks right there in the middle of the dance floor.
✧ SIGMA
Sigma would panic at first, afraid to ruin what he had with you, yet guilt gnawed at him for keeping such a secret.
His voice sabotaged him.
“I need to confess something.”
“What’s happening, Sigma?”
Your worried look only deepened his guilt. His head lowered.
“I’m so sorry…I hope you don’t think I’m a horrible person, or that I had any ulterior motives. You’re such an incredible person… and I’ve…developed feelings for you. I know it’s inappropriate—“
“Sigma…” Your shocked voice made him lift his gaze. “I wouldn’t have thought… And… I—I feel the same way.”
Now it was his turn to be shocked.
“You do?”
You nodded. Silence stretched between you, until both of you smiled, meeting halfway in a slow, gentle kiss.
Looking for the perfect kissing gloss with your boyfriend is like . . .
Mwah! Mwah! Mwah!
You’ve been kissing him for an hour on his bed, but he’s still not yet satisfied—at this point, you think, he never will be.
“Angel, try this one next…” he purrs, handing you the small sparkly tube of gloss.
The goal was to find the perfect kissing gloss, and you had a vast collection. Of course, sponsored by your disgustingly rich and hardworking boyfriend (maybe sugar daddy).
You wipe your lips with a new piece of wet wipe and apply the gloss he handed you. Plop! You puckered your lips, giggling as he looked up at you.
God, he looked so cute when you sat on top of him.
“I could die like this…” he says, awestruck.
You laugh, rolling your hips, knowing how to make it ache. “Like this?”
“You’re so cruel, angel.” He pouts.
For the nth time, you lean down and grab his face. “Then maybe you should punish me.” You whispered before crashing your lips onto his.
Seems like your boyfriend was really getting his money’s worth with these glosses!
cw: MINORS DNI—explicit sexual content, gn!+afab!reader, a lot of anonymous sex, dirty talk, BIG DICK MEN, probably a good amount of ooc, some questionable dynamics/dubcon that can be read through the lens of roleplay and/or prior consent. character-specific warnings—chuuya: public sex, penetration; dazai: penetration, riding, creampie; kunikida: professor/student, oral (m!receiving); fukuzawa: secretary/boss, office sex, oral (m!receiving), facefucking; atsushi: HEAVY DUBCON WARNING, stuck, perv atsushi, penetration; akutagawa: blackmailing if you squint, degradation, choking, penetration; oda: penetration; ango: public sex, penetration, riding; nikolai: dubcon, home intruder f!masturbation, penetration; sigma: a tiny bit of perv sigma, oral (f!receiving); fyodor: priest!fyodor, religion/blasphemy kink, christianity-specific, oral (m!receiving)
reid: putting my dual major in journalism to work by subtitling these like bad porn videos. little not so thought out drabbles many with no definitive ending just silly whore thoughts. some are more stupid than sexy but either way i hope you enjoy because this was a blast to write HAHAHAHA
⊹ ⊹ ⊹
⊹ CHUUYA NAKAHARA—HOT GYM BUDDIES CAN’T WAIT UNTIL AFTER THEIR WORKOUT TO FUCK!
“Yeah, that’s a lot better. Look at you, you got it,” the pretty redhead mutters, his hands still firmly on your hips as he spots your squat. “Give me one more, I know you can.”
The praise prompts you to draw in a deep breath that has nothing to do with your next squat; anyway, this gorgeous man, kind enough to help you with your form, believes in you. So you bend once more, squatting down, down, and pushing back up—until on your way back up, you feel your legs begin to buckle.
“Woah, woah.” It’s sweet how concerned he sounds as his hands fly up to the bar and his feet nudge you forward to help you replace the weight on the rack, but his hips end up pressed to yours, and you’re gasping. “You okay?”
You’re fine, caged between him and the bar as he leans over your shoulder to glimpse your face that’s flushed from exertion. Only exertion, surely, even though your ass is pressed firmly to his pelvis. He doesn’t seem hard, but you can still feel it, and it feels big.
“Yeah,” you breathe, moving to duck under the bar, but it’s low and you’re feeling a little dizzy, so you teeter backwards into him, and as his hands find your waist again. “Yeah, I’m about to be done anyway.”
“You should really stretch after maxing out like that,” he suggests, turning you around. “Don’t wanna be hurting, do you?”
But you can only look into his intense eyes and shake your head lightly before he’s easing you to the ground on your back, settling each of his knees over one of your thighs, and slotting his shoulder beneath your hamstring. He pushes forward, gently, slowly, looking to you for anything wrong; and there isn’t.
There’s nothing wrong, except for the fact that you can feel his huge dick against your pussy through both of your shorts.
It’s all you need to start moving blindly, reaching down for his waistband, pawing at his neck, mashing his lips to yours, and he doesn’t hesitate to do it back—he lets up on your leg only to slip your shorts off before your ankle is back over his shoulder and he’s grinding the head of his cock into your wetness.
“You gonna let me in, baby?” he pants hotly, looking down at you squirming beneath him. “Yeah, I know you will—you’re strong, you can take it.”
His tip catches on your clit, and you gasp before he’s plunging into you, setting a brutal pace. “Oh, fuck!”
“Oh, fuck, yeah,” he groans. “So fuckin’ tight.”
He hits the inside of you perfectly, his soft ginger hair falling loose from its low pony—you wish you knew his name so you could scream it, but you settle for moaning, panting, cussing, as he throws your other leg over his shoulder and drills into you on the gym mat. ⊹
⊹ OSAMU DAZAI—MY OLDER BROTHER ALMOST CAUGHT ME FUCKING HIS BEST FRIEND!
“Shit—I’ll be back, gonna go shower this off. Asshole.”
That was what your older brother, Chuuya, grumbled at Dazai before scurrying off to the bathroom. The three of you had just gotten back from getting ice cream, and Dazai had the brilliant idea of snatching Chuuya’s cone from him and sticking it in his hair. Cursing ensued the entire walk home.
And Dazai popped the tail end of his cone in his mouth and grabbed for your wrists as soon as your brother was out of sight, which leads you to now—in the living room, on the couch, bouncing furiously on his cock as he grunts.
“Osamu—be quiet!” you plead with him, but you’re moaning, too.
His lips fall into a grin. “Don’t worry, cutie, I can still hear the shower—fuck! Just keep—keep doing that, you feel so fucking good.”
So you reinforce your grip on his shoulders and slam your hips down to meet his, over and over, drawing sinful sounds from both of your bodies as you’re separated by a single thin wall from your brother—Dazai’s best friend, who would probably murder both of you if he found out you were fucking.
And then the water turns off. You muffle the choked cry you let out into Dazai’s shoulder, so damn frustrated that you won’t get there, not before Chuuya comes back—but Dazai’s flipping you onto your back, grabbing you by your hips, pulling you into him with such fervor that you almost shout.
“Need it, baby, I need to cum in this pussy—”
“Osamu!”
But even you can’t tell if you’re egging him on or warning him to stop—with no sound buffer and Chuuya undoubtedly coming back any minute, your body decides for you that you need it, too, you need to cum and you will, no matter how much your mind protests; your eyes flick nervously up to the hallway when they’re not rolling back from how Dazai’s rearranging your guts.
“He’s gonna come back—unh—and you’re gonna sit here with my cum in you, and he won’t even fuckin’ know.”
He’s digging his nails into your hips and ass, making you twitch, reaching down to rub your clit hard, and when you cum, clenching around him, he shoves his palm over your mouth and spills into you with a last few wet smacks.
Dazai’s scrambling back into his pants as footsteps pad down the hall; he all but throws himself at the other end of the couch as you curl up, dressed but fucked silly, focused on not letting the evidence of what just happened gush out of you and leak onto the couch.
“Fuck was that noise?” Chuuya mumbles, sauntering out as he’s tying his wet hair up.
“Hm? I don’t know, I didn’t hear anything.”
When Chuuya turns toward the kitchen, Dazai tosses you a wink. Your face burns as you feel yourself leaking. ⊹
⊹ DOPPO KUNIKIDA—COLLEGE HOTTIE SUCKS DICK FOR EXTRA CREDIT!
"You do realize I'm going to have to fail you," your professor informs you, looking into your eyes with a little regret. Truthfully, you've always been personable in class and shown promise as a student, and he's disappointed. Not in you, just in your poor academic performance during your final semester.
"There has to be something I can do to make up for it," you nearly plead, hands clasped together on the edge of his desk as you look to him with hope. You know you've been slacking, but you need this class to graduate.
"I don't know—" He sighs your name, clearly confliced. Your attendance record is less than impressive these days, and Kunikida's enforced a strict class participation policy throughout his years of teaching—as well as no extra credit—something he makes clear to all of his students in all of his classes, and you especially should know better after taking his classes for four years. "I don't know. Like what?" Maybe you can do a few credits in the summer and still walk at graduation, or pick up an internship. But he wants you to take the initiative and accountability.
He doesn't really know how to protest when you're slipping out of your seat and sinking to your knees as a spark starts to gleam in your eyes. You rattle off a few academic ideas for posterity, but ultimately find your hands sliding up his thighs and fiddling with his belt.
Fuck it, you think, you'll be out of here soon enough. Plus, Kunikida's always been kind, compassionate, understanding, and sexy—too invested in his field to even notice that handfuls of students on campus would throw themselves at him given the chance. Maybe he'll finally understand, you muse to yourself, as you work his hardening cock out of his dress pants.
He chokes out your name when you take his length in both of your hands; he's all the way gone when you're swirling your tongue over his tip, giving in to your little idea for extra credit sooner than he'd ever admit to himself.
"Oh, fuck—" He's staring up at the ceiling of his office in pure bliss because his student is working hot, sloppy kisses down the underside of his cock. His hands twist into your hair, and you gaze up at him, doe-eyed, as his head falls forward and he looks at you through his glasses. "Keep going. Don't fucking stop."
He's trying not to thrust into your mouth when you fondle his balls; his pretty blond bangs are dampening with sweat, and you can't take your eyes off him as you bob your head faster, hollowing your cheeks around him and moaning at the taste of your professor's cock heavy in your mouth. He twitches and jumps at your attention to detail—your fingers raking tracks down his thighs, your frantic tongue, your fluttering lashes and sugary moans, gags, and slurps that are music to him.
You know, as he falls apart more and more by the second, you won't have to worry about this class anymore.
"Unh—uh, yes, oh, fuck, we'll work something out, yeah, gorgeous? Just don't stop—d—don't stop, don't fucking stop, I'm gonna cum down that pretty throat, yeah, and we'll get it all figured out." ⊹
⊹ YUKICHI FUKUZAWA—NAUGHTY SECRETARY SEDUCES HOT BOSS!
You're perched on his desk when he returns from the meeting—Yukichi, your boss, who, lately, you can't stop thinking about climbling like a tree. You're sure your coworkers see it, too, but you're his personal assistant; no one gets to be as close to him as you, and he trusts you.
Which is why you'll put the moves on him today.
He runs a hand through his silver hair—obviously stressed—sighing as he pulls his office door shut and turns to you. He speaks your name, holds a few papers in your direction, begins instructing you on what he needs from you next.
But you know better what he needs. The papers that make their way into your hands are quickly forgotten about on his desk as you uncross your legs and hop down, sauntering up to place on hand on his arm, the other on his chest.
"Sir, you look so tense. Are you sure there isn't anything else I can do?"
He makes his way to sit down in his office chair, disregarding your touch in a way that has you following after him like a puppy in need of attention.
He doesn't answer, but he also doesn't protest when you settle between his knees beneath his desk and push his yukata and haori up to pool around his hips. His dick is thick and veiny, even soft; when you spit in your hand and begin to work him up and down his mouth falls open with a sigh, and he grows at least two inches as he hardens beneath your grip.
You didn't think you'd be able to fit his absolute monster cock in your mouth, but you find yourself, throat open, with your nose pressed to his happy trail as you swirl your tongue and breathe through your nose frantically; he holds your face down, speaking very little but making up for it with the way he grunts hotly in that deep, rough voice as he bucks into the back of your throat.
"Unh—ugh..."
You breathe through your nose as his hips fall into a brutal pace; his hands on either side of your head keep you pinned in place as he uses you, takes his stress out on you. Your fingers massage his balls, and you can't help the way you hum around him when he twitches in your mouth.
Yukichi pulls out of your jaw and you gasp for air, wiping the spit that drips down your chin with the back of your hand, but he's not done. When he does speak, it's demanding, low, and it makes your cunt throb with need.
"Get up. Get up, sit on the desk. 'Need to fuck you."
You do as you’re told, open up for him with no hesitation, smiling as he works his fat cock into you—yeah, his stress will be gone in no time with the way he fucks your hole so hard and fast that you shake with each creak of his desk. ⊹
⊹ ATSUSHI NAKAJIMA—STUCK IN THE ELEVATOR WITH MY SEXY NEIGHBOR!
"Ah! Atsushi, open the door!"
"Um," he frets, punching the button until he's sure it'll break. If it's not broken already. "I—I can't, it's not working!"
Not working? Is he fucking serious? You're trapped in the door—all you did was try to reach back out for your bag you'd set by the elevator and now you're stuck, by the waist, between the two sliding maneuvers, your bag dangling from your hands.
"It's supposed to have a sensor! It's not supposed to even close when someone's on the threshold!" you cry through your teeth as you try to squirm out. Atsushi's mind is already working, though, over the way you're pinned in half, wiggling your ass as you struggle against the industrial strength of the elevator door. "Atsushi, help me, please call someone or something—"
But his hands are on your hips, pulling backward, and you can't help the noise of surprise that slips out of you.
"Atsu', I seriously don't think that will work, please, just call—Atsushi!"
His hands shake as he slides your pants and underwear down your thighs, exposing your ass; he tunes out your protesting as he undoes his belt. You hear the clink of it hitting the ground, you feel his fingers dipping into your cunt from behind, and he cannot be fucking serious.
"I'm sorry," he cries like it's out of his control—he feels like it is. "I'm sorry, you're so hot, you're right here, I've wanted this for so long."
And you feel yourself beginning to drip at his desperate tone. You can't fucking believe it—this is depraved. This is some shit you would've never expected from the sweet, cute boy in the apartment across the hall who helped you drag your bedframe and couch from this very elevator to your room but here he is, prodding at you with his pathetically leaky cock while you're stuck in the damn elevator door.
And you'd be frustrated with how your body reacts, but as he slides his dick along your cunt, drenching himself in your wetness, you can't help but arch back into his touch.
"Atsushi, you have to fuck me, please."
And he does, fast and unpracticed—he whimpers for you, tells you you're all he thinks about when he jerks off; he confesses that he looks through his peephole when he knows you're leaving for work or school just to get at least one glimpse of you everyday to fuel his imagination, and you gush around him, the pain of the door trapping you falling irrelevant, drifting out of your mind, as he buries his face in your shoulder and humps into you like an animal, pounding against your cervix.
"Fuck, that's right, so good, so, so good—better than I could've imagined—agh, fuck, that's right, take it all, take it, take it, take it...!" ⊹
⊹ RYUUNOSUKE AKUTAGAWA—HOT BABE HAS NO MONEY, LETS THE DELIVERY BOY DESTROY THAT PUSSY!
You rifle through your wallet and hum when you come up short. "Um, I... know you said you don't have a card reader, but I don't have enough cash."
The delivery boy looks at you with little more than boredom until you invite him in.
"Here, let me look in my room—I might have more stashed somehwere..."
He stands over you, searching you with his curious gray eyes as you dig through a drawer, a bag, another bag, only to come up short again. You even peek under your mattress for good measure, but you're just out. You turn to him sheepishly.
"I, uh... I don't have enough, I'm really sorry."
"Well, I can't leave without some form of payment," he deadpans, and you try to think of something, anything—you have a few giftcards for other delivery services, some jewelry—but he's letting his bag fall off his shoulder and grabbing you by the hips before you can register what he means.
You end up face down, ass up on your bed as a compromise, his hips rutting into you from behind as he holds your wrists behind your back. Ryuunosuke his name tag read—you're quick to adopt a way around that mouthful, moaning out, "Ryuu, Ryuu, please!" as he splits you open and calls you a whore.
"Fuckin' slut—"
When you're able to glance back for a second you can see his pretty black hair swaying with each rough thrust, and you're sure he's hitting your lungs—he's so fucking deep inside you, and you're gasping, moaning for more.
"—so eager to—unh—take this dick. Probably hiding your cash somewhere."
But whether you are or not doesn't matter; your eyes are rolling back to the hard smack of his hips against your ass and the white-hot pleasure that rolls through you every time he plows straight into your g-spot, and he's throbbing inside of you at the way your cunt grips him. Your pizza's getting cold on the counter in your kitchen, but you don't care—not when he bunches his fingers up in your hair to arch you back up to him so he can wrap his other hand around your throat.
You hold onto him as he bends you, pulling air down into your lungs when you can, and his gravelly voice barrages you with more words that make you gush around his cock.
"Gonna let me cum in this pussy so you don't have to fork over a few bucks for a pizza? Pathetic."
His teeth sink into your shoulder, his other hand reaches down to torture your neglected clit, and you're sure he's gonna break you over this, your hot delivery boy who just so happened to have the idea to fill you up as payment. You pant his name desperately between thunderous moans—you're gonna cum soon. ⊹
⊹ SAKUNOSUKE ODA—THIS PLUMBER FIXED MORE THAN JUST MY PIPES!
"Okay, that should do it." The man stands up, back to a height at which he towers over you, and you lean on the doorframe to the kitchen as he shuts the cabinets beneath your sink. "It's all movin' again."
You were in your robe when you answered the door, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't run to the bathroom to fix your hair and swipe on a little lip balm while he was working. Really, you hadn't meant to try to fuck the plumber. But this man was gorgeous, with his auburn hair, stubble-lined jaw, large hands, broad shoulders. You felt your eyes widen when you first laid eyes on him, and now you'd been throbbing thinking about what those thick fingers could do other than plumbing.
You pull your robe tighter around yourself, hoping to subtly accentuate the outline of your body. "Thank you so much, really, I don't know what I'd have done without the sink."
"Probably used the dishwasher a lot more," he cracked dryly, and your previous words suddenly feel stupid, but it only serves to make him hotter.
"How should I pay you?" You stride over to him. "Cash?"
"You can just pay online." He looks tired, but he has a well-meaning smile on his face.
You look a little incredulous. "Really? I can't—do you accept tips? Seriously, top notch work and super quick. I can't not thank you."
"I'm really not supposed to take tips," he drawls, running a hand through his hair. You find yourself biting your lip; you can't look away from him. You must look like a rabid animal right now, but you can't help it.
He doesn't tear his eyes away from yours.
"I mean, unless..."
Those three words are what find you on your back in your bedroom with your robe thrown open, the sweet and efficient plumber named Sakunosuke standing at the edge as he impales you on his cock. He worked you open with those fingers first, fast and harsh, just how you begged him to, but nothing could've prepared your weeping hole for the stretch of his fat dick—and now he's pounding into you, his hands clutching your waist as you hold your legs open for him to thrust deeper, deeper.
“Oh, shit. Unh—so wet—“
His groans come from his chest, deliciously—he looks a little like he knows he shouldn't be doing this, but your cunt is sucking him in like it was what he was supposed to come here for all along. You spasm and clench around him and he throws his head back, your whole body rippling as his strong hips and heavy balls smack lewdly against your ass with each thrust.
“Mmph—fuck—break that sink of yours more often, alright?” ⊹
⊹ ANGO SAKAGUCHI—I JOINED THE MILE HIGH CLUB (EXTREMELY RISKY)!
The man you met in the airport bar—oh, he’s pretty.
He's even prettier in your mind when the pilot announces phone permissions now that you're in the air, and the first notification your phone receieves is from him.
I have an open seat next to me in first class. Come visit.
You don't hesitate for a moment. You stride forward from the economy section, past the flight attendants who protest at you flimsily to search for his seat number—you see his unmistakably gorgeous hair, his glasses, his sharp side profile as he speaks to an attendant, catches you in his peripheral, and then shoos her away.
There's hardly niceties before one of your legs is slung over his knee and he kisses you with fervor. You don't think too hard about the people around you—none of whom can actually see you but without a doubt will know exactly what's happening in a few minutes—as you grind down onto his thigh, bite his lips, draw soft gasps from him when your knee nudges his bulge.
Before you know it, his cock is free and he slides your underwear to the side so you can sink onto him; he groans shamelessly when your wet heat envelops him completely, causing heads to turn in your direction, but you just brace your knees against the airplane seat and your hands on his shoulders make quick work of milking him of everything he has.
He kisses you, hot, heavy; he smells good, he smells expensive, and you tear his dress shirt open to rake your nails down his chest as he grabs your hips, letting his head fall back and a full-bodied moan into the cramped air of the plane as he does so. You lift up to let him thrust, let lewd smacks resonate throughout first class, and with your chest in his face he rides your shirt up to latch his teeth to one of your nipples; you echo him, moaning unabashedly, running your hands through your hair, gripping him as people look on.
"Fuuuck, yeah, feels so good," he praises from beneath you. "Knew I had to fuck you from the second I saw you." His eyebrows draw up in concentration as he looks down at where your bodies meet and continues fucking up into you hard. "Hah—listen to that cunt cry for me. You like being watched, huh? Gonna let me fuck you 'til the plane smells like sex? Huh?"
You nod, messily, desperately, and he quickens his pace ever faster, pulling you back down into a sloppy kiss.
An attendant awkwardly approaches in the aisle, but the gorgeous man who's destroying your insides just holds up a palm, shoos her away again.
"Fuck—so sexy. Keep takin' this dick." ⊹
⊹ NIKOLAI GOGOL—LUCKY INTRUDER GETS TO FUCK HORNY VICTIM!
You're splayed out on your bed, two fingers stuffed deep in your cunt—and he's just surprised you didn't hear him breaking the lock on your front door.
When you meet his eyes, you're so glazed over with pleasure that you barely miss a beat, your gaze only blowing wide when he peers around your bedroom doorway. His snowy white hair, his sharp features—you can't find the sense to be alarmed at this unfamiliar man, the one holding your laptop and—is that your wallet?
Doesn't matter—they're clattering to the ground, another factor here you can't find it in yourself to care about as his gray eyes are locked onto you fucking yourself open on your sheets. The sheen of sweat that covers your skin, your desperate moans as you grind your clit against your palm, the obscene squelching that comes from your wet cunt—they all serve to propel him over to you, prompt him to dig his already-hard cock out of his pants as you just watch, beg him with your stare to come fill you up. You're so lucky he's here, really—you look like you're struggling to get deep enough with your pathetic little fingers; he guesses it's only fair that he repay you for the material goods he's about to rob you of and pawn off on whatever sucker will buy them for cash, right?
"Right? I'll help you out—" He gives his cock a few pumps as he positions himself between your legs, "—looks like you need it, sweetheart."
You can only bite your lip to supress the moan that leaves you as he enters your cunt and lifts your fingers up and out of you by your wrist to swirl his tongue around them, lick them clean. He's huge—even your third and fourth fingers weren't enough to prepare you properly for the burglar’s dick in your needy pussy, so you let out strained combinations of gasps and screams when he starts to drill into you mercilessly. You can't help the way your ankles link behind his back, the way you reach for him—and he smiles wickedly when your eyes roll back.
"You like having a stranger's cock deep in your guts, huh?" he speaks between deep sighs and grunts. You can only babble your incoherent agreement, your laptop and wallet forgotten, the actions of this man forgotten, everything but how desperately you need to squirt all over him forgotten—you reach down and rub your clit, play with your nipples as your mouth is frozen open as you moan, moan for this man who's just broken into your home. "Uh—yeah, you're gonna like takin' all my cum, too, I bet." ⊹
⊹ SIGMA—MASSEUR HELPS HIS SEXY CLIENT RELIEVE STRESS!
"Oh, yeah—right there," you groan softly as the heel of his palm meets the center of your back. You've been looking forward to this full-body massage the whole week, and this man was not disappointing.
He works his way down your back, twisting knots out as he goes—his lithe fingers feel like heaven against you, overworked from hours at your desk hunched over your computer.
But it's a full-body massage, as mentioned before; when his fingers dig into the plush of your asscheeks, you can't help the groan that leaves you.
"That okay?" he inquires; you think you hear a shake in his voice.
"More than okay," you reply, thinking you could fall asleep as he works you into relaxation. You could close your eyes from how good it feels, or you could peek behind you and see his face burning with blush at your sounds. You do the former, but smirk a little at how sweet it is of him to check in.
He checks in again when his hands are inching your underwear down, and you tell him of course, he's the professional.
He's still the professional when he climbs up on the table behind you and buries his flushed face into your cunt. You arch up and back, crooning, as his hands stay massaging you, spreading you apart, kneading your ass with career expertise and plunging his tongue into you with enthusiasm.
"Oh! Oh—feels good," you breathe, grinding back into his face, onto his nose. He laps at you happily, this masseur you've barely looked upon for a total of twenty seconds, but you can't lie to yourself and say you didn't think he was pretty when he led you back to his room; he hums into you, sending you shivering, twitching. "Please, more."
"Mhm," he mumbles, releasing one of your asscheeks to lay back beneath you and insert a long, thin finger into your pussy; you sigh, you settle onto his face, and his tongue speeds up in this new position in a way that rips a high moan from your lungs.
Not hunched, but arched, the stretch feels heavenly on your back in combination with the way he pumps another finger into you; you graciously sit up, throwing your head back, begging, pleading for more until his tongue settles into a tight back-and-forth rhythm over your clit. "Please, please, please—"
You grind against his nose, your moans become more erratic, and you dig a hand into his hair as your hips move in dizzying circles over his head.
"Cum for me?" he asks, muffled by your pussy; you'll ride him until his face is soaked. ⊹
⊹ FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY—CONFESSING MY SINS ENDS IN HUGE CUMSHOT ALL OVER MY FACE!
“And I’ve been terribly, terribly lustful, Father Fyodor,” you say with regret. “It consumes me. I really never used to be like this."
"Temptation lurks everywhere," the priest sympathizes. You can barely see him through the grate, but his soft, forgiving voice sounds close to you. "The Devil and his army are constantly exploiting our vulnerabilities to try and turn us to sin, but worry not, child of Christ; we're human. I'm here to guide you. Continue."
You shift on the wooden seat in the booth, crossing your hands tighter over your lap. "That's really all. It's been very concerning to me. I think about it... I think about it so much."
"About what?" Father Fyodor prompts, and you bristle even more at being asked to elaborate.
"Sex," it barely comes out as more than a whisper. "I can't help it—it's everywhere. It leaves me feeling so... exhausted and frustrated, and the only thing that helps is... Well..."
But you're met with silence. You know he wants you to go on. You're here to confess, after all.
"...touching myself. I do it at least once a day. It's like a burning within me—nothing helps but—but—cumming all over my fingers." Your voice is laced with shame—the throbbing of your cunt as you talk makes you feel all the more guilty, and you can only imagine how he's shaking his head. "That's all. That's all."
"You'll do penance," he says, comfortingly. "When we bring our sins to the Lord and repent he cleanses us of them."
The grate pops out of the window, and you see the the waist of his alb as he speaks his next words.
"You'll take communion, now—" the cinctures around his waist fall undone beneath his hands, and the alb is hiked up to reveal a leaking cock, pretty and pale and bobbing in the air of the confessional. "—and be saved from the flames of perdition.”
"Yes, Father, please. Anything to be saved." But your mouth waters in a way that you know has little to do with your thirst for salvation.
"Take this; eat. This is my body," he recites the scripture as his length reaches through the window; your hands, eager and already on the threshold, accept him willingly. As you wrap your mouth around him, he groans, and it's like seraphim singing their holy, holy, holy.
"That's it—child of God, follower of Christ; I absolve you of your sins," he gasps as his tip hits the back of your throat which was begging for forgiveness moments ago. His hands reach through the window to stroke either side of your face, and then hold you in place to fuck your throat. "The Lord will forgive you for this." ⊹
I don't know if you get a request, but if bsd men had a baby fever??? [They finally achieve their goals😅(I'm talking about dazai, Fyodor and Chūya or something😭)]
BABY FEVER (Headcanons + scenarios for DAZAI, CHUUYA and FYODOR)
A/N: Don’t worry, I didn’t disappear this time. Awfully sorry for how long it took, and I'm still not happy with how it turned out. But oh well, I hope you all enjoy!!! (and I think this is the first time I wrote for Fyodor...and I may have gone off on a slight religious tandem)
Genre: Smut, kinda fluff in headcanons?
Content warning: swearing, p in v sex, overstimulation, breeding
Synopsis: After they see you interact with kids, they notice just how motherly you are…and have this overwhelming urge to breed you. Headcanons are sfw, but scenarios are…more spicy
Dazai:
You both see a lost child in a mall
You and Dazai were just ambling around the mall (more like Dazai had dragged you along with him because he was “overworking” himself at the agency and he apparently needed a break)
Of course you had relented, because let's be real, there is no way you’re getting any work done with an overgrown panda clinging onto you and annoying the hell outta you (but he’s your overgrown panda so it's fine)
So, you’ve done some shopping, and forced Dazai to carry your bags cuz if he dragged you to go shopping, you’re totally forcing him to do at least this for you (good, you should make that lazy bastard do some work)
But then, just when you were about to leave, you hear sniffling noises
You turn and see this cute, little one wiping away their tears, but they just can't stop crying
Slowly, you approach the child whilst Dazai just stares – he couldn’t care less about this kid who was wasting his alone time with his darling Belladonna
But when Dazai sees how you coo so lovingly, and cradle the child in your arms, instantly calming them down with minimal effort, it's as if some imaginary switch was flipped on inside Dazai
Would you act like this if it were his child?
He couldn’t believe how he didn’t notice before how nurturing, how motherly, you were before
Now, he wanted to see you like this more – to see how you would act with your belly swollen with his child, or how you would tenderly rock a baby that resembled his and your features in your arms
Perhaps he’d have to do something tonight to make this dream a reality...
Scenario:
“F-fuck Osamuuuu...slow down!”
Your desperate plea is ignored by the man who has you in a mating press, thick cock stretching you until you feel a tickling pain behind the numbing pleasure, but who were you to complain? Dazai’s soft pants in your ear are driving you crazy with desire as his hips continue to move at an inhumane pace, and you swear with how impossibly deep he’s attempting to stuff himself inside you, you can feel him in your throat, stealing your broken breaths. Tears rake its way down your cheeks, as you claw at his back desperately.
“P-please! Ugh...t-too much!”
You don’t know what’s gotten into him, with how he’s been fucking you non-stop for well over half the night, no breaks and no checks. He’s stuck in his own world, desperate, desperate for something that you have yet to find out.
It's what he’s been saying for the majority of the night, but if the creamy ring around the base of his cock didn’t signify how many times he’s begged one more, then I don’t know what will. You can feel him everywhere, his cock thrusting again and again until your pussy is filled to the brim, both your juices starting to leak out due to the sheer number of times Dazai has cummed in you now.
But he still doesn’t stop.
Euphoria hits you like a drug, mind going blank as your eyes roll back, your cunt spasming rhythmically around Dazai and you cry out from the overstimulation. But your bandaged lover merely keeps going, whimpering pathetically against your neck as he’s spitting out half-formed sentences,
“G-gonna cum...be a good girl...take it all, yeah? Fuck, gonna...knock you up, my sweet ‘donna!”
Your eyes shoot open at his words, finally putting together his actions and intentions through the blissful haze. And hearing those words makes you cling more tightly to Dazai, unintentionally trying to pull him closer, and he laughs breathlessly in your ear as he whispers sensually,
“Oh my, you clenched real hard when I said I wanted to fuck a child in you...who knew my precious girl had a breeding kink.”
Each thrust is filled with raw power, feeling harder and deeper than before, and by now, all thoughts have flown out of your head, replaced by the intense pleasure only Dazai can give you. One, bandaged hand slithers down your body to your clit, rubbing it in tight circles until your scream in pleasure, intensified by the warm feeling of Dazai’s cum filling you up once more. Finally, you come down from your high, but as your body relaxes, you notice the brunet’s wicked smirk. And you feel the delicious dread course through your body as he utters one word.
“Again.”
Chuuya:
You’re a kindergarten teacher + he visits for the first time
You, my darling (Y/N), happen to be at work – teaching your small class of adorable angels – when your beloved husband’s head appears through one of the classroom’s windows
(How is he tall enough to reach?? XD jk)
You signal to our short king to wait 5 mins until your – and the kids – lunch break
5 agonising mins later, the small ones all toddle out and an impatient Chuu-chuu toddles in (sorry...not)
But just when you were about to kiss the husband who had left for a mission two weeks ago and had only returned now, a small cry of pain came from the back of the classroom
You push the mafioso away, and it's safe to say Chuuya is a bit miffed judging from the scowl/pout on his face
Chuuya watches as you expertly take the child in your arms and cradle them reassuringly, asking them what the matter was
And suddenly, your gentle voice fades into the background as Chuuya feels his pants tighten
Fuck, Chuuya doesn’t think he’s seen anything that’s as hot as his wife comforting this child like she’s been doing it all her life
But you know what would be hotter? If it were their child – if you had been consoling his child in your arms like that
And Chuuya knew that if he stayed even a second longer in that stuffy classroom with you and your soft smile, he’d pounce on you right there and then and never let go until he knew his child has been brought into existence
Muttering a quick excuse about needing to go to the PM HQ, he successfully escaped, leaving you confused about his sudden change in demeanour
Don’t worry, my dear, you’ll understand soon enough...
Scenario:
You had barely walked through the door when a ginger slammed you against the wall and growled out,
“Do you know how much I’ve wanted you since I saw you earlier today?”
And you figured he’s acting like this because of his mission, but you’re proven long pretty quickly when:
“Chuuya, please! W-wait...aaaaah!”
Your nth orgasm of the night causes you cunt to spasm uncontrollably around Chuuya’s fat cock, as you gasp at the sheer intensity, pleasure consuming you. But Chuuya still doesn’t stop, if anything, he speeds up even more. Usually he’d be done by now, preferring to spend the rest of the night cuddling and talking. But not today, not whilst his cock is effortlessly bullying your eager hole as he tightens his grip and angles his hips perfectly to hit that sweet spot to make you see stars.
“C-chuuya! Ungh..what’s the...what’s the matter?”
His blue eyes hold you captive to his gaze, as he whispers against your soft skin,
“Gonna make you the mother of my kids, my queen.”
And the way you whine at his words, revealing your desire to be bred by him, was all the consent he needed to get rougher. Chuuya lost control at the desperate gaze in your eyes and began to fuck into you with abandon once more, lewd noises filling the air.
“C-chuu-aah!”
Your pornographic moan makes Chuuya swell even more in your hot cunt, as the plap sound grew louder and faster. Chuuya’s dick hits all the right spots, drawing you closer to the inevitable edge, and your whimpers reach a beautiful crescendo as pure pleasure courses through your body, stars exploding behind your eyelids. Your pussy clenches around the thick meat inside you, and Chuuya groans against your neck as his seed spills, painting your insides white, marking you, claiming you.
“Shit (Y/N), that’s it, baby...yesss. Gonna see your tummy swollen with my kids.”
You chuckle weakly, delirious from the stuffed feeling, and you move to get up, wincing when Chuuya slides out. Your cheeks turn crimson at the feeling of his cum erotically leaking out, but suddenly, you feel a muscular hand push you down, and two fingers scoop the semen from your entrance, pushing it back into your sore pussy. Chuuya offers you a raunchy smirk as he whispers darkly,
“Neither of us are going anywhere until I knock you up for sure.”
Fyodor:
Kids running around in casino
Fyodor was usually a very calm man – someone that many people though had infinite patience – because he rarely, if ever showed his emotions
But that was not the case today where these kids in the casino were running around wildly – disrupting the poor man’s careful planning
The only thing that’s holding him back from getting rid of all those kids forever is his beloved (Y/N)
There was no way he’d bash in the skulls of infants whilst his soft lover is nearby – oh no, he’d need to maintain his façade of a man with some sort of virtue
But you being the perfect, observant person you are, immediately notice your Fyodor’s patience coming to a dangerous end, and so you quickly whisk away the child that would have become the Russian rat’s victim
Fyodor’s gaze follows you as you clap your hands to grab the attention of all the kids, and with a cheerful demeanour and encouraging smile, manage to distract them enough to keep them from disturbing Fyodor
But Fyodor was now distracted by his lover, who was easily keeping the kids company, and he couldn’t help but wonder if you’re this good at calming down brats, you’d be a great mother to his children
Those amethyst eyes darken with lust, finally planning his next moves but it had nothing to do with taking over the world
Scenario:
(myshka = mouse) – a personal fav nickname of mine teehee
You’ve never seen Fyodor’s predatory eyes glean with such filthy desire before. A man of God, who vowed to rid the world of sin, but isn’t such unfiltered lust, sin too? And like the deity he says he is, he reads your mind perfectly and answers your unasked question,
“Silly girl, God cannot sin.”
He stalks towards you, all graceful and elegant and you scamper backwards until you hit the bed. But Fyodor doesn’t stop advancing, not until he’s looming over you with a predatory smirk. And it only takes a few more seconds before both your clothes come off, and even hours later, both your bodies remain unclothed.
Fyodor and you were both too busy wrapped in each other. Squelching noises filled the air, and his condescending voice only made your cheeks grow hotter, and your pussy wetter. Fyodor’s cock hits your sweet spot with an uncanny precision that had your back arching and eyes rolling back in pleasure, desperate mewls tumbling out of your mouth.
“Fedyaaa! O-oh, God!”
“Yes...call for your God.”
He’s struggling to keep his groans of pleasure as lazy amethyst eyes lock with your own, but the arrogance in his face is unmistakeable. At least Fyodor had some illusion of control but you? You were fucking ruined by the man on top, tears of ecstasy dripping down your face as your face stretched in a permanent ahegao, only the thought of your God filling your head.
Lithe fingers pinch the pearl between your legs cruelly, a sadistic smile lighting Fyodor’s face at your desperate cry for mercy, but just like the last few times, he simply ignores you, letting you ride out the burning pain of your orgasm. Finally, it seems as if the torture ended when Fyodor releases your shaking legs, and you tremble as you sit up on the bed in between gasps for breath. You feel your cunt clench at the piercing glare he offers it, feeling the thick liquid drip out lewdly, but then his wicked eyes find yours, and the blood drains from your face at his next words,
“Oh myshka, how naïve of you to think we’re done here. After all, I have to make sure you’re truly pregnant with my child.”
